


One stroke and you consumed my waking days

by shanimalew



Series: Fictober 2019 [14]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bittersweet, Drabble, Fictober 2019, Idiots in Love, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-16 20:33:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21042353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shanimalew/pseuds/shanimalew
Summary: Aziraphale receives a letter from Crowley that pushes him to rethink what he really feels for the demon.Who would have thought a typo would hold this much power.[Fictober 2019, Day 14]





	One stroke and you consumed my waking days

**Author's Note:**

> This story is an homage to the wonderful musical Hamilton and to one of its best characters: Angelica.  
If you get the reference, I love you and we should totally be friends.

**Day 14: “I can’t come back.”**

_ Dear, Aziraphale _

_ I’m writing you this letter just to let you know that the job here in Glasgow is done but I can’t come back, not yet. Apparently I was too good at your job and my side asked me to stay in the city a little bit longer. That’s why I’m writing you this letter, instead of discussing the work done during one of our meetings. _

_ I’ll bring you something from Scotland. _

_ See you soon, angel. _

_ Don’t make London too boring without me. _

_ Yours, _

_ Crowley _

Aziraphale reads over and over again the letter, feeling calmer each time. 

Crowley should have returned to London a week ago if his estimations weren’t wrong, after all Glasgow is not very close. But when the entire week passed without seeing or hearing from the demon, Aziraphale has to admit he got a bit anxious, ready to go to Scotland to see if something happened.

But he should have known Crowley is a professional, he doesn’t need protection, least of all from an angel. Heaven knows what his lot would do if they found he was helped by an angel.

However, even though his anxieties have calmed down, he feels something else weighing on him. A strange sadness that really shouldn’t be there.

He shouldn’t be sad that his enemy is away from the city, he should feel ecstatic! Finally London free from Crowley’s mischief, even if just for a while.

Instead, he finds himself longing for the demon, sad that their next encounter is postponed.

Which is bad. Very bad. 

He is an angel of the Lord and angels don’t need demons. No sir, not at all.

Aziraphale tightens his grip on the letter, marching determined towards the bin. He’s ready to tear the letter apart, and with it also tear, metaphorically, his turmoil, when his eyes fall on a sentence.

_ Dear, Aziraphale _

It must be an error, an oversight. The demon would never call him something other than angel, much less dear. 

However, he also wrote ‘Yours’. Not Goodbye or yours truly, just yours.

Aziraphale shakes his head, sighing. He shouldn’t linger on these kinds of thoughts. Well, he shouldn’t be having them in the first place but as many have said, the heart follows reasons that the reason does not know. So if he can’t control his heart, he can try and control his mind.

And his mind will never, ever, linger on what is an oversight. It will not create castles out of crumbles, no.

The demon was probably distracted when writing the letter, God knows what he is doing in Glasgow!

He shakes his head again, this time fondly, as his mind thinks of Crowley turning upside down Glasgow and all Scotland.

He gently puts the letter back in the envelope and puts it in one of the drawers of his desk, the one where he keeps all the letters from those dear to him. There, there are letters from writers, poets, and gentlemen with whom he had shared some very fond memories. And obviously also Crowley's.

Because no matter how hard he tries to throw his letters or little messages away, he always fails.

Being a man of his word, Crowley returns two weeks later with a gift from Scotland. 

“It’s a blanket, for your couch, so it looks like it belongs to the right century” the demon says, smirking at the angel’s indignant face.

Aziraphale doesn’t ask him what he did in Glasgow for so long, nor does he ask about the alleged mistake in his letter, finding himself too afraid of the truth.

“Dinner at Franco’s?” he instead asks, having a hard time trying to contain his smile.

He feels his heart sink under the weight of his affection for the demon, which becomes even more unbearable when Crowley smiles widely.

“Lead the way, angel”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments are always appreciated.


End file.
